Bruce Springsteen’s song, Racing in the Street is heartfelt, raw and telling of the struggles and wins all of us face. In these fueled times our suicide machines made of rubber and steel serve us toward our own dreams in life, on our tracks and to our finish line.
We all desire the perfect ride, the perfect night, and to win just once or more if we are lucky and right. To find that place where we can share life with a best mate, a Sonny as the song tells. And if we are fortunate enough to find a woman for a even a moment in time, love her strongly and with our all, and perhaps in the heat of the night, make another. I have been there and raced a track or two.
When I first heard this song, my fuel was low and my machines were failing. I’d listen to the story he told, and the scenes resonated with me as I recalled times of my early years. My love of the machines, the smell of grease on my hands, and the driving of roads that took me through the years of building, racing, loving and all of those in betweens.
My sons pictured above, perhaps they too are racing in the street now. I can only hope they have found that perfect gear and their machines are thrilling them as much as mine have. I have lived.
None of us really know where the road goes. We start the engines, push into gear, pull out of our driveway and press that pedal down. The wind blows, the radio plays, and we drive.